


Red - The Rider

by Niitza



Series: Volkslied Series [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fire, Firefighter!Dean, Fluff, M/M, PhD student!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:00:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1925931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niitza/pseuds/Niitza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. In which there is a fire, but nobody dies—except maybe Castiel's long standing celibacy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <b>(This story is part of a series but works as a standalone.)</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Red - The Rider

**Author's Note:**

> So I totally cheated: in the song, red (rot) corresponds to the rider (der Reiter), which in the past referred to a cavalryman or a member of the mounted police. I didn't feel like writing a historical AU, and the police today isn't really associated with the color red. So I went with the next best thing, as in the public service we associate with red.
> 
> This was Niitza's long-winded explanation trying to justify writing a firefighter!AU.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that students in the middle of their finals do not like to be woken up at three in the morning by the fire alarm of their building.

The worst clock doesn't hold a candle to that shrill, continuous, whiny sound—especially since it can’t be turned off with well-aimed palm or football, and since it can't be ignored. Indeed, in a student building, chances are that said alarm isn't a drill but that someone did set fire to their microwave by attempting to cook eggs in it, to their sheets by hanging them to the radiator to make them dry faster, or to their books and notes by burning them in the sink as an auto-da-fe of loathing or desperation.

Yet when the fire alarm rang halfway between two and three a.m. in one of Palo Alto's student houses, rare were the people falling off their beds with shock or murderous intent. It didn't mean that Stanford University was to be counted as the exception to the rule, or that its students were a peculiar bunch that didn't need sleep or was particularly fond of ear-splitting noises. It simply meant that the largest part of the dorm population hadn't made it to bed yet, as it tended to be the case towards the end of the last week of midterms. Half of the students were still up partying because their own exams were over while the other half cursed the lucky ones and crammed for the test they would have the following day. Of course, there were some exceptions, like the few specimens that were able to take the reasonable decision to stop learning and have an early night in preparation for a quiz, or the lightweights and over-enthusiasts that were already passed out from too much drinking.

Castiel had been in a transient category—as he often was. As a PhD student he had no exams, but was to supervise some of them, especially those that took place first thing in the morning and that the professors loved to foist off on him and his peers. He'd therefore read a couple of chapters in the book he was currently reading and then gone to bed relatively early. Unfortunately, and much to his dismay, he hadn't been able to do much more than slumber episodically since then because of the party taking place on the floor below.

When the alarm had rung, he'd definitely given up on his night of sleep. He'd hastily put on his beloved bee sweater over his pajamas and slipped into the first shoes he'd found before stumbling down the stairs. By some miracle he hadn't fallen and had joined the other students slowly gathering on the pavement outside.

Most of them weren't happy to have been forced out of their rooms but they were getting over it far more easily than they would have had the fire happened one week earlier. The party-goers were clearly disgruntled but already planning to go crash one of the other events currently taking place on campus. The last-minute workers for their part were clutching what notes they'd been able to salvage on their way out and already discussing what advantages they could gain from that incident, like the strategists and orators some where about to become. Would it be better to try and get their professors to postpone their exams, or to take them anyways in order to get it over with while benefitting from a less harsh grading on grounds of mitigating circumstances, lack of sleep and emotional trauma?

Castiel was half-listening to them while he stood slightly to the side and watched the smoke billowing from the building and clouding the night sky. The fire had caught on the third floor but had clearly spread to the top one—which happened to be where his room was located.

He'd never been more grateful for his almost compulsive need to clearly separate where he lived from where he worked, which meant that all his notes and books, as well as his computer, were either in his office or in the lab, that is to say safe.

Flames were becoming visible and the fire department unrolling the hose to try and contain them. A small unit had already rushed inside to check if anyone was trapped there. Castiel observed their movements, quietly admiring how organized and efficient they were in spite of the tension running high in the air, following their captain's orders without hesitation. It calmed him, oddly, making him believe everything would be alright.

"Jess?"

He turned his head when he heard the name and recognized the voice. It wasn't hard for him to catch sight of the person who'd just arrived, calling and looking for his girlfriend among the students spread out on the street. After all, the young man was tall enough to stick out in any crowd.

"Sam," he said, loud enough for his floor neighbor to notice him.

Sam hurried over at once.

"Cas," he said, obviously relieved to see him. "Have you seen Jess?"

Castiel frowned. "No. I thought she was with you, or out celebrating since her exams are over."

Sam's brow only creased further in worry as he shook his head. "She had a headache and decided to go home and have an early night instead."

He looked around once more, his breath coming out faster. "Jess!" he called, voice carrying over the murmur of conversations, the increasing roar of the flames and the answering hiss of the water now gushing from the firehose.

But the young woman was nowhere in sight. The only reply Sam got was a cruel one, was a loud rattle as the windows of the top floor suddenly burst, glass shattering and raining down in fiery shards. Throat tightening, Castiel glanced over at Sam and saw the moment his neighbor went from anxious to convinced that his girlfriend was still inside the building, trapped.

"Jess!" he shouted, and rushed forward without thinking. At once one of the firefighters who'd been making sure everyone stayed at a safe distance was here to catch him.

"Calm down," he said. "It's-"

"No, you don't understand," Sam retorted, struggling against the hold. "She was tired and stressed, she took sleeping pills, she didn't wake up, she's still inside, I have to-"

"-stay back and let us do our job," the dark-skinned man spoke, calm and inflexible. "We're doing everything we can. One of our best unit is currently inside. If anyone is still there they'll get to them and get them out."

Further to their right the captain kept giving orders and updates about the situation through the radio. The building was becoming unsafe and the team was being called back out. "All units," the gruff man insisted. "That means you too, idjit," he added, obviously at the intention of one of his men in particular.

Soon several firefighters appeared through the main door and jogged down the flight of stairs, some guiding a couple of civilians staggering under the influence of alcohol. Sam had quietened down slightly but remained tense, eyes jumping from the top floor to the entrance and back, straining as if it would make Jessica come out safe and sound.

That's when roof collapsed.

Sam let out a sound like his guts had just been ripped out of him, then bellowed his girlfriend's name, eyes riveted at where the fire sparked and flared. Another firefighter—a petite blonde, obviously still a trainee—had to come to assist in holding him back, and displayed a surprising amount of strength by not getting bowled over at once.

"Sam."

Castiel's voice, firm and brief, snapped the young man out of his panic. He followed his neighbor's gaze towards the entrance of the building, out of which the last two firefighters were coming, one of them carrying someone slung over his shoulders. The riot of blonde curls streaming down around her head made her easily recognizable even from a distance.

"Jess," Sam gasped. He abruptly stepped back, taking the two people holding him unawares so that they didn't manage to snatch him when he changed course and ran towards the ambulance. Castiel followed. A gurney had been pulled out for the firefighter to carefully lay the young woman on it.

She was unconscious.

As Sam and Castiel reached the scene, the man stepped back and took off his helmet to be heard more clearly.

"We found her unconscious," he said, breathing hard. "Pulse weak but stable, breathing insufficient. We don't know if she passed out from smoke inhalation or never woke up in the first place. She might have-"

"She probably took sleeping pills," Sam butted in, ready to move to his girlfriend's side.

Without even glancing in his direction the firefighter held out an arm, silently asking him to stand back, give her space and let the paramedics do their job. The strangest thing was that Sam did, stopped and didn't fight the man like he had his colleagues. He simply watched as the medical team did a first, rapid examination, sentences and diagnosis flying faster than Castiel could follow, then put an oxygen mask over Jessica's mouth and nose before carrying her into the ambulance. A couple of people were already sitting inside, ready to be taken to the hospital for a checkup.

There would've been enough room for Sam to hop in too, but when the last paramedic threw him a look before closing the doors, the firefighter shook his head.

"I'll drive him, no worries."

The woman nodded, pulled the door shut and the ambulance drove off without Sam uttering a single protest. He just let out a long, strangled breath.

"She'll be okay," the firefighter said as the vehicle screeched around the corner, siren blaring. He started to turn away, but before he could take a single step Sam collapsed onto him, wrapping him into his huge arms. Caught off guard, the man staggered back and let his helmet fall to the ground before he managed to recover his footing. As soon as he had he returned the embrace, clasping his own arms around Sam's large back.

"Thank you," the young man was saying, voice broken and heavy with near sobs. "Thank you, thank you, God, _thank you_ -"

"It's okay," the firefighter replied, firmly patting him on the back, jaw clenched. He didn't let go. "It's okay, Sammy."

And for some reason it was that picture that carved itself into Castiel's mind, that would come back to him first every time he thought of that evening afterwards: his friend collapsed in relief, babbling incoherent words of gratitude, and the firefighter stoically holding him up, clasping the back of his nape, allowing him to let go. The man's close-cropped hair and handsome face were streaked with sweat and soot, his uniform dirty and slightly singed, and behind them the flames and smoke rose into the sky, casting dancing lights and shadows on the whole scene.

"It's okay," the man kept saying, as if he was reassuring himself as well as Sam. "She's gonna be okay."

 

*

 

The hospital was quiet when Castiel entered it the following day, the urgency of the previous evening having dissolved into the calm and controlled routine of rounds and checkups. A bunch of flowers carefully cradled between his hands, he walked down a corridor, up a flight of stairs, along another corridor, around a corner—and finally found Sam. The young man was standing outside a room, frequently glancing through the window opening into it he drank from a large cup of coffee.

"Hello, Sam," Cas said when he reached him.

Sam twitched a smile. "Hi."

"How is Jess?"

"She's good," Sam replied, his smile widening with relief. He jutted his chin towards the window, silently indicating that Castiel should look inside.

Jessica was awake, sitting up in bed and smiling. She had a tube running under her nose to help her breathe and a couple bandages peeking out from under her hospital gown, but she seemed alright. She was animatedly talking to her visitor, a man whom Castiel recognized as the firefighter who had saved her. He was out of his uniform, down to a black t-shirt that revealed the bandages covering his forearms and several of his fingers, the pad taped to his neck.

"They're keeping her in observation but she started breathing on her own again," Sam said. "Her lungs are still a bit tender. The doctors think she'll be okay."

"Good. But did they restrict the amount of visitors to one at a time?" Castiel asked, wondering why Sam was lingering outside.

His friend chuckled. "No. She kicked me out actually, with orders to go eat something and fetch a coffee. I guess my fussing was a bit overbearing," he finished sheepishly.

In the room, Jess laughed at something the firefighter had just said, making him grin in delight. She certainly didn't seem to mind _his_ presence.

"I brought flowers," Castiel said, as bit uselessly, holding up the bunch he'd chosen after far too much pondering.

Sam glanced down at it with a quirked eyebrow and smile. "You know, chrysanthemums are a symbol of death in some European countries. Mostly used for funerals."

"Oh," Cas let out, feeling awkward. "I just thought—the colors reminded me of her."

He looked down at the petals, a riot of lively yellows and oranges. When he thought about it, it reminded him of fire too. Which, given the situation, wasn't very judicious.

Clearly he hadn't thought this through properly.

"She'll like them, don't worry."

Castiel nodded. He knew Jessica, and she would accept the flowers in the spirit in which they were given, not the symbolism they could carry. Reassured, he looked again into the room, where Jessica was leaning forward, her hand on the firefighter's forearm as she spoke. She was obviously trying not to laugh before she'd finished her story, to no avail.

"What she seems to like is the company she's in right now," Castiel said. He paused, and tried for some teasing: "Maybe you should be worried."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "About what? Dean?" He huffed. "He wouldn't."

"There is a reason the knight in shining armor is such an overused trope in all kinds of medias," Castiel insisted. "A savior does have its appeal. And this one is also extremely pleasant to the eye."

Sam let out a laugh and his gaze was positively mirthful when he said: "Cas, that's my brother."

Castiel froze. "Oh," he let out, mortified.

He'd known Sam had a brother. The young man had mentioned him several times—but only in passing, never lingering or going into details, as if the man were nothing but a distant acquaintance, a figure left behind somewhere, far away, almost a bad memory. He'd certainly never specified that said man lived closed-by, close enough to be a member of Palo Alto's fire department.

If he had, Castiel probably would've avoided yet another moment of painful discomfort. Fortunately for him, Sam wasn't one to rub salt into the wound and he spared him any comment beyond that first chuckle. Instead he watched his brother and girlfriend as they talked and joked, a soft, wistful smile on his lips.

"He's a hero, you know," he said quietly. "I gave him so much crap about deciding to be a firefighter like our dad. For the longest time I thought he was only doing what dad wanted, not thinking for himself, about himself—but he isn't. He's doing it for his own reasons, for the right reasons. He helps people. And-" He shook his head. "I feel like such a jerk. All those years, and I-"

His voice trailed off. Inside the room, Dean had stood up and appeared to be saying his goodbyes. Jessica waved at him before he turned away.

"You can go back in, Sammy," he said when he stepped out. "She's all yours."

"You're leaving?"

Dean nodded. "Gotta go back to work. I'll leave her in your huge clumsy hands. And your friend's."

He pointedly looked at Castiel. Sam jumped slightly.

"Oh yeah. Dean, this is Cas," he rushed to say. "Castiel. We shared a couple of classes over the years and he lives on my floor. Lived. Cas, this is my brother, Dean."

Castiel tucked the flowers into the crook of his left arm as he reached out his right hand.

"It's an honor," he said, feeling his skin prickle with awareness at how formal and clichéd his words sounded. "Thank you for your help yesterday."

"Just doing my job," Dean replied with an easy smile as he gave Castiel a firm, brief handshake. "And I gotta go back to it so…" He glanced at his brother. "I'll see you around, Sammy. Cas."

With another twitch of a smile and an aborted wave he turned away, and disappeared down the corridor.

 

*

 

Sam's whole group of friends went out for drinks once Jessica was released from the hospital and felt recovered enough to sustain a night out with rowdy students. It was also an occasion for them to celebrate once more the end of their finals.

Castiel, as a PhD student, had gotten the short end of that stick and now had entire piles of copies to correct from the couple of classes he gave. But he'd been invited and had decided to come anyway. So had, apparently, Dean.

From what Castiel had gathered over the last week and a half, the events around the fire had led him and Sam to talk and sort several things out between them. They'd come out of it closer than they'd been in years. Suddenly Dean's name showed up frequently in Sam's conversation, as natural on his tongue as if it had never stopped rolling off of it. Therefore it wasn't surprising that he'd tag along for an evening of drinking to Jessica's health.

The occasion also meant that he was to be treated as the hero of the day. That much became obvious as soon as he entered the bar behind his brother and Jessica, when cheers and whoops indicated in no uncertain terms which table was waiting for them. The three made their way over, and Dean shook a lot of hands as Sam made a lot of introductions before people started to shuffle around to make room for the newcomers to sit.

For no reason Castiel could discern, Dean ended up sitting right beside him, opposite his brother. It didn't seem to bother the man, who turned towards him as soon as he'd placed his order.

He remembered Castiel's name.

Soon, they were talking. Dean was surprised to find out that Castiel was much older than Sam, even though they were only two years apart study-wise.

"You served?" Dean said when Castiel explained.

"Yes, for nearly three years."

"Which branch?"

"Air Force."

Dean chuckled. "I was in the Army. My dad was a Marine, but no one could manage to convince me to climb onto a boat. Or a plane." His voice turned quieter when he asked: "Why did you stop?"

"I got shot," Castiel replied.

It had been a little more complicated than that, but Castiel wasn't about to go into the details of his crash, not here, not now. It wasn't the time and place to talk about how no one had been sure that he would make it, physically and then psychologically. How he hadn't been sure that he would make it. All Dean needed to know was that he'd gotten an honorable discharge, had found his bearings and was now studying biology.

"Biology?" Dean repeated with a grin, obviously not expecting that.

"Yes," Castiel confirmed. Studying the workings of life was fascinating, especially after seeing so much death.

Dean's grin abated into a smaller, yet profoundly understanding smile and Castiel realized he'd said that last part out loud.

"How come you met Sam, then?" Dean asked, tactful enough not to mention it or press the matter. "He said you shared a couple of classes, but I don't see what law and biology might have in common."

"The first one was an introduction to anthropology, back in undergrad. Then there was a seminar about animal rights."

Dean nodded slowly. "So you're a defender of nature's rightful inhabitants too?" he asked, softly teasing.

"I think humanity has the ability to live harmoniously with other animals, and therefore should try harder to turn it into a reality," Castiel replied.

Then, as they settled into the evening and the drinks followed one another, he found himself enthusiastically talking about the classes and issues that interested him most, about the subject of his PhD thesis and the experiments he was currently doing. And Dean listened, kept encouraging him by asking questions, grinning, raising his eyebrows in surprise and chuckling in amusement. His green eyes never left Castiel's face, and yet Castiel didn't feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny. It only made him sure that he had Dean's attention, that Dean was still listening even though the subject probably had nothing to do with his everyday life or his own interests. From time to time they were drawn out by the conversations around them, took part in a general burst of laughter or answered when someone stood up to get another round and asked if they wanted anything. But afterwards they always returned to each other, picking up right where they'd left off.

Castiel had never felt this way, and wished the night would never end. But it did, and by then his focus and articulacy had dwindled, the result of the many drinks he'd sipped without noticing. Dean hadn't the same problem, as he'd only allowed himself one beer at the start of the evening. He had work the following day, he'd said, and their chief wouldn't tolerate any of his men coming in hungover. After all, not being on top form was nothing short of suicidal in their line of work.

"Would you incur a penalty?" Castiel had asked.

Dean had winced. "No, but I'd be relegated to washing duty. And I wouldn't get my share of Karen's pie."

Karen, Castiel had learned, was the chief's wife, and a genius when it came to baking. The mere prospect of missing a slice was enough to make Dean look like a wounded, lost child, so Castiel had nodded in understanding and ordered him a soda when they'd next been asked if they wanted another drink.

As a consequence, and because his car was actually enormous, Dean ended up being the one to drive Castiel back at the end of the evening. Not to his student apartment, as the whole building was in reparation for the foreseeable future, but to his cousin Gabriel's flat, which had a guest room he could sleep in until he found something else and most of all affordable.

They first made a detour through the suburbs to drop off Kevin, a freshman Sam had met through the Vegan Action group, then turned towards the surprisingly nice and quiet neighborhood Gabriel had chosen to settle in. Dean had to get out of the car to help Castiel stand up and wrapped an arm around his waist to support him as he stumbled towards the building's entrance. Castiel took advantage of this, leaning against Dean's solid chest with a pleased hum, and when they stopped he slung an arm around the man's shoulders and kissed him.

He nearly missed, and the movements of his lips were sloppy, but Dean kissed back, slow and tender and surprisingly chaste. When they parted Castiel huffed around a grin, feeling dizzy with more than just alcohol. Cheeks flushing, he buried his nose between Dean's neck  and leather jacket and inhaled. The man smelled delicious. Castiel stubbornly clung to him when he leaned to the side and stretched out an arm to reach the intercom.

Gabriel answered at once, as he apparently never slept.

"Cousin delivery," Dean announced. "You'll have to come down, I think he's in no state to negotiate the stairs or the elevator."

Gabriel complained loudly at having to interrupt his movie, but finally agreed. When he reached the first floor and opened the door, Castiel had his arms wrapped around Dean, nose still buried in Dean's neck as he giggled and mumbled:

"You're like a flower, and I'm your bee."

"Okay," he heard Gabriel say. "He does seem pretty smashed."

"Yeah," Dean replied, clearing his throat. The blush rising on his cheeks was utterly fascinating.

Castiel tried to resist when Dean started to disentangle himself, but his lack of coordination finally allowed Gabriel to pry him off and get him through the door. They briefly stopped inside, Gabriel thanking Dean for bringing his cousin home in one piece and Dean shoving his hands into his pockets before asking, almost bashful:

"Tell him to call me?"

Gabriel nodded, and the door closed, and Dean turned away to hurry back toward his car.  Castiel could see Jessica sitting in the back seat, smiling down at Sam who'd sprawled over with his head in her lap as soon as Kevin had left. She glanced up when Dean entered the car and looked over to wave at Castiel as the Impala backed up then turned to rumble away into the night.

 

*

 

It took Castiel over a day to recover from his hangover—with Gabriel crowing in the background—and a lot longer to recover from his embarrassment over what he could remember from that evening.

Gabriel argued that it was better than not remembering at all. Castiel conceded the point, but could've done without the memory of himself gushing over the professor supervising his thesis on agricultural practices and their endangerment of bees. Cain Knight was a reference in the field, but Dean didn't need to know it in as much detail as Castiel had given him. He also didn't need to know about the deep loathing Castiel harbored for the likes of Dick Roman, which had come up in an outraged tangent about SucroCorps, and more generally the agribusiness, and had led to Castiel formulating the explicit wish to see the CEO die a painful death—for instance by being stabbed with a bone dipped in the blood of the cattle whose mistreatment he encouraged.

Not that Castiel had ever thought long and hard about ways to make Dick Roman suffer.

"So you want to bone a dick?" Dean had summed up. A second later he'd frozen as he'd realized what he'd just said, and had started looking like he was seriously considering crawling under the table to hide.

That last memory made Castiel feel a little bit better, reminded him that Dean was human too. And that he hadn't shied away once during that evening, remaining at Castiel's side except from when he'd gone to the bathroom—with the explicit request for the PhD student to keep his chair for him. At some point he had even slung an arm over the back of Castiel's chair, allowing his fingers to brush against Castiel's shoulders and nape every time he leaned back in his seat.

He'd kissed back, gentle and shy. And he'd asked for Castiel to call.

Nevertheless it took Castiel nearly a week—and a lot of hints from Sam, who kept signaling that Dean said hello and hoped that Castiel was doing okay—for him to gather his courage. He'd faced enemies armed with guns and rifles and grenades, he could ask his friend for Dean's number.

Sam gave it readily, a large grin splitting his face in two.

He also threw in a certain amount of information about Dean's schedule, so that when Castiel finally found it in himself to press the call button, the firefighter answered almost at once.

"Yep."

Fortunately, Castiel recognized the voice in spite of the short greeting. And just like that, all his worries faded out as his lips stretched into a smile.

"Hello Dean."

 

*

 

He had to take refuge in his room half-way into the conversation, when Gabriel unexpectedly came home, understood what was going on and started singing Adele at the top of his lungs.

" _There's a fire starting in my heart_ -"

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [on tumblr](http://princessniitza.tumblr.com) if you wanna come say hi :)


End file.
